


sensuous

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Series: rareprompts [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drabbles, Gen, M/M, Senses, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:49:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4372511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some things that Kenma doesn't need to look at to know they're there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sensuous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [manta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manta/gifts).



> For Winny, one of the loveliest, kindest people I've ever met. A series of 100-word drabbles of vaguely-train-related Kuroken.
> 
> Kuroken isn't quite a rarepair, but I've never written them before and I love them, so! Hope you enjoy ♥

**sen·su·ous**

_relating to or affecting the senses rather than the intellect_

 

 

Kenma's mornings taste of tap water and mint, of toothpaste foam and the tang of orange juice dancing on his tongue, which always makes him swallow and stand up a little straighter. It's pulpy, a little sour; frankly not his favourite, but it's too much hassle to tell his mom to buy something different.

Sometimes it's yuzu, which is better; and sometimes it's grapefruit, which is worse.

Sometimes, when he meets Kuroo by the lamppost at their street corner, Kuroo tosses him an apple juice box from the vending machine.

It's sweet and cold, and Kenma drinks every last drop.

 

/

 

The train rumbles, winding its way through Nerima. Kenma yawns.

Kuroo elbows him.

"Wake up," he says, and Kenma blinks his eyes open to see he's nearly tipped over onto the shoulder of a suited salaryman.

"Late night?" Kuroo asks, knowingly.

Kenma knows he doesn't have to answer. Sure enough, Kuroo grins.

"So? Did you beat that last boss?"

"Yeah…"

A bell sounds, and the _next station_ announcement peals clear and bright through their carriage; only Kenma hears Kuroo's low, throaty chuckle next to him, because this is the OST to _his_ Tokyo Metro, and he's been listening for years.

 

/

 

There's something about the way that grass smells, this time of year.

They've trampled it beneath their feet, so many times, their sneakers romping through dew and the April breeze, blowing back Kuroo's perpetual bedhead, making Kenma sneeze with all the pollen.

When Kenma bends down to pick up a volleyball that's rolled astray, his head bends close to the ground, and that's the smell he'll remember.

One evening, he taps his Suica card on the gantry and walks out into a spring shower with Kuroo by his side, and it wafts to him once again, _green_ , like whispered memories.

 

/

 

 _You have sharp eyes, Kenma,_ Kuroo had told him once, as they played Super Smash Bros. late into the night.

And Kuroo had said it again, years later, when it mattered.

This is what Kenma sees on the train, with those eyes of his: a tiny, lit-up window into another world, pixels and buttons and demons to defeat.

Outside, there's a skyline and a sunset, the sleepy golden glow of the neighbourhood where they grew up.

There are some things that Kenma doesn't need to look at to know they're there. He wears the sight of them on his heart.

 

/

 

This is the most elemental way they touch each other.

These are their mornings and evenings. This is how it feels when there isn't enough room to sit and they stand, gripping handholds, and Kuroo stretches out to steady Kenma.

The air in the carriage is warm. Kenma's skin pricks with still heat. He is all nerves, and he is not; he is that one point of contact, and he is everything, he is cupped in Kuroo's palm, smaller than a grain of sand, larger than the universe.

He lets himself lean forward, and rest his forehead on Kuroo's shoulder.

 

 

People say that there is a sixth sense, a kind of feeling that transcends.

Kenma does not believe in something like this. He believes what he sees, with his keen-eyed gaze, he believes in the sound of the ball hitting the court, and he knows that means a win or a loss. It's easy, if you see the world that way.

But sometimes, Kenma lets his feet get away from him. Sometimes, he loses himself in the crowd.

Kuroo will find him.

And those times, perhaps, Kenma will believe, believe in that elusive sense that leads Kuroo to him, always.


End file.
